


all that I know is not what it seems

by narquelie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sickfic, Stydia Friendship, coda to 3x01, no peters allowed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 01:44:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narquelie/pseuds/narquelie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And this is how Lydia Martin ends up alone in an almost haunted house with an unconscious werewolf in her care. Frustrated doesn't even come close to describing her feelings right now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all that I know is not what it seems

The Hale house is a musty ruin of ash and dust and rotting wood - just as she remembers. Lydia tries to concentrate on her anger towards Stiles, but all she can feel now is aggravation and restlessness she can't manage to overcome. This place brings goosebumps to her skin, no matter how much time has passed.

“Look,” Stiles says, distress clear on his face. He waves his arms at her furiously to somehow emphasise his point, “I'm gonna be right back, you won't even realize any time has passed – ”

Lydia shoots him a deadly glare. “I'm not going to be a freaking werewolf babysitter.”

“Not a babysitter, just a – a nurse – ”, but at the sight of her face he instantly backpedals, “no, I meant, like a guardian, a watchman, well – a watchwoman, is that what you would pr–”

“ _Stiles_ ,” she hisses, momentarily forgetting about her Hale house fear, the familiar taste of anger welcome on her tongue.

“Look, we just can't leave him here alone, okay?” He looks resigned when he says that. “I don't know when he's going to wake up or what he's going to do, but either way he could easily hurt himself. Or that's what Derek says. Which is probably true in this case. The only thing you need to do is tell him to wait until I or the others come back, and not to strain himself or anything.”

“Can't you just leave him a note?” she asks with a huff of annoyance.

Stiles scrunches his face. “Have you met him?”

Lydia taps her feet on the decaying floorboards in contemplation. Stiles looks at her with that pleading expression again. “Lydia, please – I didn't even think to call Allison what with her not-getting-involved policy, I mean I'm not blaming her or anything – but you're my last – ”

“Your last resort, I know that, thanks,” she says bitterly, ignoring the way he furiously shakes his head in denial. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Even though he tried to kill me. Twice.”

Stiles makes a face. “He had issues, okay? And he's sort of redeemed now, or at least we hope so – ”

“What's so important, anyway? That you need to do immediately,” she inquires, dropping her bag to the floor.

“Just some research.”

“Stiles,” she says, with an imploring look. “No secrets this time, remember? I need to know.”

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. It's grown ridiculously long during the holidays. “I just – there's something dangerous going on, and we barely know anything about it. But the animals, what's happened to Isaac – it's closer than any of us think. So I'm not going to sit back and idly wait until someone else gets hurt.”

A moment of silence passes between them, and then: “Okay,” she says softly. This time there is no sarcasm in her voice.

“I'll let you know as soon as I find anything out.”

“Okay.”

He turns to the door, frantically searching his pockets for his car keys.

Lydia stares at him, biting her lip in contemplation. “Stiles?” she calls, as he opens the door.

He turns around and quirks an eyebrow.

“Do you think – do you think Derek's uncle is going to come by?” Her voice falters, just a little.

He knows the real question she meant to ask and it takes a lot of his self control not to curl his fingers into fists. Instead, he smiles at her, “I think that if he likes his head attached to his neck, he'll try not to cross your path any time soon.”

The corners of her mouth tug up slightly; he counts that as a small victory. “Okay, I'm leaving now. Call me if he does anything stupid. Or call Derek. I'll text you his number in a minute.”

And this is how Lydia Martin ends up alone in an almost haunted house with an unconscious werewolf in her care. Frustrated doesn't even come close to describing her feelings right now.

-

He lies on a makeshift table in the middle of what might have been once a living room. He looks strangely calm, almost serene there, despite dark circles around his eyes and bloodied blankets that cover him. There's dried blood on the table and on the floor too, she realizes, wrinkling her nose at the sight, but if his quiet, steady breaths are anything to indicate, he doesn't seem to be dying at the moment. Lydia recognises blue petals of a wolfsbane flower scattered on the floor and takes a shaky breath. There are more flowers on the other side of the room and her hands start to tremble. She knows this place.

She turns around from the gaping hole in the ground (she averted her eyes, but she knows it's there) and sits on the edge of Isaac's table. She stares at her nails, but soon realises it unnerves her even more (her hands are shaking and she can't stop them). She thinks she should call someone to ask for notes from the lessons she missed, she withdraws her phone and starts scrolling through her contacts in search of someone sufficiently reliable. To be quite honest, she would have stayed at school after the bird incident – falling behind on her school work on the first day was definitely not something she would want – but when Chris Argent offers to drive you home, who are you to say no? It's pretty inconvenient that Allison has such a good-looking father, that's for sure.

Her current train of thought is interrupted by a low groan coming from the left and Lydia quickly averts her gaze from the phone. Isaac's eyes flutter open and instantly focus on Lydia.

“What are you doing here?” he asks in a raspy voice. His eyes flicker back from her to gather his surroundings, looking for someone else's presence.

“You're welcome,” she bites back, unconsciously raising her chin. In her mind she prepares a very rude Stiles-you-little-shit speech.

He seems to realize that no one else is there except for the two of them, and makes a move to get up. Another pained gasp escapes his throat in the process.

“No, no, no,” Lydia says quickly, extending her hand to stop him. “No moving. Derek said you have to wait until they get back. Don't overwork yourself. Apparently you're not fully healed yet.”

“Great,” he says sardonically. “Seems that's what happens after an alpha bite.”

She furrows her brows. “I thought Derek was an alpha.”

“Well, apparently not the only one,” he murmurs, leaning back onto the table. It looks awfully uncomfortable - only bare, hard plains of wood against his back, but he doesn't say a word about that. Lydia watches as he closes his eyes and tries to steady his breathing again.

After a moment of fairly awkward silence he speaks again: “Any news from the others?”

She shakes her head, even though he can't see that. “None that I know of. But I'm pretty sure they should be back soon.”

Isaac opens one eye and stares imploringly at her. He has unnervingly vibrant blue eyes, she finds; it's something she hasn't noticed before. “Why are you here?” he repeats his previous question. She rolls her eyes.

“You're so ungrateful.”

“I was just asking.” Lydia quirks an eyebrow and he sighs. He feels so tired.

“Stiles had an emergency, so I came over to babysit you in his absence.”

He would have rolled his eyes too, if he weren't so drained. “And you just threw everything away and ran here out of the good of your heart, didn't you.”

“Actually I thought I owed him a favour,” she said, surprising him with her sincere tone. “He did save me today from getting smashed by an angry flock of birds.”

“Oh.”

“Yes: _oh_. It seems that your freaky supernatural business is making nature angry again.”

He doesn't argue with that, which makes Lydia boast a little in her mind. Her smirk falters when she realizes that his quietness probably doesn't come from finding her arguments superior, but rather from the pain he seems to be in. His face looks so pale it's almost translucent, and she can see beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Lydia is sure he was fine just minutes ago.

“Isaac,” she asks in a voice she hopes is kind enough, “do you need anything? Water?”

At the slight nod of his head she bends to pick up her bag from the floor and searches for the bottle she's packed for school. The house is a complete ruin, she doesn't even bother trying the tap in the kitchen. Her bottle is only half-full but it's still better than nothing.

Lydia puts her hand under his head to raise it a little bit and prevent him from choking on the water; she wrinkles her nose at the feeling of his hair – it's almost dark from the dirt and dried blood, and unpleasantly sticky to the touch. Nevertheless, she manages to lift him up and puts the bottle to his mouth. His eyes open again and flicker from the water to her face, bright with confusion and something she can't quite place. He takes a few small sips, careful not to spill the liquid on either of them (she feels strangely grateful for that – after all, she is still supposed to go on a 'date' tonight, and it seems that she won't have time to go home and change before that).

She throws the empty bottle to the ground and lowers his head back onto the table. He doesn't seem much better; in fact, when he mumbles a thank you his voice is barely more than a whisper. He's sweating too, and when she accidentally touches the side of his face she realizes that he is burning up.

This isn't supposed to be happening, is it?

She fishes some tissues from her bag and tries to wipe his face as gently as she can. The notion does nothing for her growing anxiousness – even through the material she can feel the unusual warmness of his skin and it starts to freak her out.

“What's going on, Isaac?” she asks, worrying her lip between her teeth. “Is this some sort of werewolf healing process or something else that's strange yet perfectly normal for supernatural beings?”

He lets out a creaking noise from the back of his throat that might be supposed to be a laugh. “'ve no idea.”

“Alright then,” Lydia says sternly, switching into business mode. She is good at working under pressure. She just needs to remember that. “There's no water, least of all cold, to break your fever, no towels, apparently no medical supplies either, though I don't even know if they would work on you anyway – ”. She stills. “I'm calling Derek.”

Lydia ignores Isaac's muffled words of protest and dials the number Stiles has sent her.

Derek picks up after the third ring, and she explains him the situation in a brisk, matter-of-fact tone. It's strange, talking to this man as if they actually know each other, instead of just sporadically turning up at the same time and place in mortally dangerous situations.

“And one more thing,” she says, her voice gaining an icy cold edge. “Don't you even dare bring your uncle anywhere near here. Understood?” And even before he manages to reply, she hangs up.

She turns to Isaac, who is looking at her with those wide blue eyes full of something close to amazement. His breathing is still ragged and his now damp hair sticks to his forehead, but he still doesn't voice his discomfort in any way. Something stings inside her chest when she thinks about that – after all, didn't she hear that he'd been abused by his father for years before? He'd probably been through far worse than a simple fever.

She absent-mindedly runs her hand through his hair, pushing it away from his forehead; but she catches herself quickly and withdraws her hand.

“They're already on their way here,” she says, averting her eyes from him. “Derek and Scott. And he says you'll live,” she adds, a corner of her mouth curling up slightly.

“You didn't have to do that.” He closes his eyes briefly at the pleasant feeling of her cold hand through the tissue she was holding to his skin. “He could have been in the middle of something important.”

She huffs at that, (she seems to be doing a lot of that lately). “Well, I don't care about Derek Hale's important stuff. You're my responsibility and I tend to be very thorough with my responsibilities.”

His lips twitch a little bit in what seems to be a pained smirk.

“Now,” she continues, retrieving a fresh tissue, “lie back like a good pup and don't do anything stupid until your alpha comes back.”

-

When Derek arrives, he barely spares a second glance at Lydia; instead he rushes to Isaac's side and starts assembling another portion of wolfsbane flowers. Scott awkwardly pats Lydia on the shoulder with a pleading _“Please don't kill Stiles – too much”_.

She gathers her things to leave, when she hears Isaac's reply to one of Derek's questions.

“I had a good caretaker,” is what he says, and Lydia tries really hard not to smile too widely.


End file.
